


Snap, Crackle, Pop

by Call_Me_Clarence



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock Holmes, Christmas Crackers, Cuddling, Dissociation, Kat's Johnlock Xmas Challenge 2019, M/M, New Years, New Years party, PTSD, PTSD flashbacks, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Call_Me_Clarence/pseuds/Call_Me_Clarence
Summary: John has a flashback during a New Years party. Sherlock tries his best to help.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 115
Collections: Kat's Johnlock Xmas 2019





	Snap, Crackle, Pop

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Бамс, бумс, ба-бах](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22101133) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Unbetaed 
> 
> So I know Christmas Crackers are mainly for Christmas, but I swear those things would start randomly appearing in my house around Guy Fox day and somehow hang around until New Years. We had so many paper hats. For no reason. 
> 
> Anyways, this was for Kat's Johnlock Xmas Challenge, day 19. The prompt was Xmas Crackers.

They were at a New Years party, and Sherlock didn’t want to be there. It was at Molly Hooper’s new flat that she’d bought with her new husband or fiance of whatever--he couldn’t be bothered to remember which at the moment. Sherlock was fairly certain his name was Timothy, or something along those lines. All he could recall about the man was that, at least at first, Molly had chosen him as a sort of Sherlock stand in. That would normally be disturbing to others, but Sherlock was just glad Molly wasn’t lusting after him specifically anymore, and had instead found a rather decent substitute. 

But Sherlock didn’t want to be here, trying to remember things about Molly’s fiance/husband/boyfriend should she bring him by. Which, going by the frequent looks she shot in Sherlock’s direction, and the firm grip she kept on Timothy’s arm, would be within the next few minutes.

Sherlock needed to find John, immediately, and then convince him that it was time to go. Maybe even drag Lestrade along so the man could escape the clutches of Mrs.Hudson’s friend, freshly widowed, who was putting the ‘moves’-- as she’d called it in a whispered conversation with Mrs. H earlier--on the obviously very uncomfortable DI. There, if Sherlock did that he’d practically be a Good Samaritan. Even John would have to agree. 

“John.” Sherlock sighed out, finally spotting the man across the crowded room. John couldn’t hear him, of course, but that was just as well. Sherlock’s voice, imbued with the relief of finding his friend, sounded a tad too much like a damsel suspiring for her love interest. Which wasn’t far off the mark, but John didn’t know that. Nor did he need to.

Sherlock was well aware that he'd blown his chance with this particular ex-Army Doctor, though putting it like that made it sound as if there were others out there like John Watson. Which, of course, there were not. Lightning like that hardly struck once, let alone twice. The moment he'd turned him down on that first night at Angelo’s, it had all been over. John had taken the rejection in stride and had yet never bring it up again. It was for the best. Sherlock knew this. He reminded himself of this frequently. 

And it’s not as if _Sherlock_ could bring it back up. Not after that speech he’d made about ‘being married to his work’. _God_ , what had he been thinking? Actually he knew exactly what he'd been thinking. He'd thought that he very much liked this John person, and that was a rare thing for Sherlock, to like someone so fervently. Especially after having just met them. From that first deduction Sherlock had been gone on the man. He had desperately wanted John to move in with him. And knowing that his own track record --and John's as well--of romantic entanglements did not end in his favor, he thought he’d have to choose between living with John, and being with him.

It was on nights such as this, when John was in his social element, talking and laughing with such ease, the light hitting him just so... that Sherlock would find himself second guessing that first assessment. Sherlock knew, that although John was enjoying himself, and was schmoozing and conversing in a way that seemed so open and approachable, that this was John's 'public persona'. The way he laughed now, was of a deeper timbre and controlled in a way that seemed so flawless as to be unnoticeable. Unnoticeable unless you happened to know that John's true laugh, the one shocked out of him by inappropriate jokes at crime-scenes, was more of a high-pitched giggle. The soft, sleepy chuckles that came late at night, when Sherlock would make increasingly bizarre and outlandish deductions about the actors in whatever film they were watching, highlighted how the loud and measured laughs he gave at parties, or the Yard, or to clients, were more of a sham than truly sincere. John would argue that shamming in the name was of public niceties was called having 'manners' and being 'polite'.

But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that only Sherlock had these pieces of John. Pieces that he didn't show anyone else. His laugh. That lazy smile after a case when they'd stuffed themselves on take-out. The way he preferred not to have socks or shoes on when he wrote, and would scrunch up his toes whenever he got stuck on the wording. These were Sherlock's. None of John's past girlfriends could tell you which of John's sighs meant he was happy but frustrated at something, as opposed to the one that meant he was five-minutes--give or take--from storming out the nearest door. Not a one of them could say they'd memorized John's favorite dish at each restaurant they visited, so that if they were ever occupied with mulling over the particulars of a case, that they'd still be able to order for him--he was so often dead on his feet during a case, practically falling asleep in the booth.

None of these women knew John like Sherlock did. That had to count for something... Perhaps he could have it all--have John with him and _have John with him_. 

... Or maybe John only showed Sherlock these parts of himself with the strict rule that Sherlock was a friend. Platonic. A non-romantic relationship that was to remain that way. Sentiment was so perversely annoying, for one could be more intimate with another, more intimate than they'd ever been with anyone else, yet being intimate in other ways was off the table. Or supposedly off the table. Definitely, maybe, not on the table...

Sherlock was only a meter or so away from John, when a loud ruckus came from the other room, and then several people pulled open Christmas Crackers and set off Holiday Poppers all at once, causing a cacophony of tiny pops.

One person let out a little yelp at the unexpected noise, a few others gave startled laughs. But when Sherlock’s eyes took in John’s face, he knew something was very wrong with the man.

“John, are you alright?” he asked quietly, coming up to John’s side, injecting himself in front of the woman John had been talking to before he froze up at the sudden loud noise. Sherlock didn’t want to touch him, knowing that it typically didn’t end well, but was pushed into him by someone trying to sidle on by in the crowded room. At the contact John took in a sharp breath and seemed to refocus on his surroundings, on Sherlock.

“Get me out of here.” John whispered hoarsely. 

That’s all Sherlock needed to hear.

They were out of the flat and down the steps in no time at all, bursting out of the apartment building and into the cold air of London’s night. John was visibly shaking, and taking deep, labored breaths.

“I’ll hail us a cab.” Sherlock said, moving towards the edge of the sidewalk and looking down the street, willing a cab to magically appear.

“No time.” John wheezed, and took off down an alley.

“J-John!” Sherlock called, quickly following after him. 

“John?” Sherlock looked about the darkened alleyway, amongst the rubbish and patches of snow, but couldn’t find his blogger anywhere, he-- 

“John!” Sherlock spotted him hunched up and hidden from view beside an old bin. Sherlock knelt in front of him, hands fluttering about uselessly. “John, what can I do? What do you need me to do?” 

John just shook his head, eyes closed tightly, digging his fingers into his leg, and from the looks of it, it must have been painful. He had sweat beading up on his forehead and temples even though it was still terribly cold out.

“You’re not there.” Sherlock tried to soothe his friend. “Feel how cold it is, look at the snow. Look at me.” John’s eyes snapped open and he focused in on Sherlock. “You’re here, in London. With me. It’s alright now.” 

“Sherlock?” John gasped, looking at Sherlock as though he were confused to see him.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.” Sherlock reached out a hand, but quickly snatched it back as John’s eyes widened at the motion. “Just… try to calm your breathing. Here, match me.” Sherlock exaggerated his breathes into slow and deep inhales, and equally slow exhales. At first John looked even more confused, but eventually followed in Sherlock’s lead, his breathing coming down from strangled and panicked gasps, to easy and controlled breaths.

They stayed like that for a little while, just staring at each other and breathing. Until John ducked his head, pressing his forehead into his raised knee.

“Alright?” Sherlock asked, still not feeling sure footed in this situation.

John shook his head. Before Sherlock could ask what was wrong, John let out a sharp gasp, something that might’ve been a sob, and whispered “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Sherlock’s brows came together in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why are you apologizing?” 

“For this.” John said through gritted teeth. “For--For freaking out, back there at the party. And _here_ \--” his voice broke then and he was unable to recover it.

“John… “ Sherlock had his mouth hanging open uselessly in shock, working for a few seconds before he was able to get it back under his control. “You have nothing to apologize for. That wasn’t your fault in the slightest--”

John shook his head again, and let out that same strangled gasp. And then another. And another. John was sobbing, and apparently had no control over it or ability to stop. 

Sherlock was vibrating with the need to soothe his friend in some way, but at the same time felt completely lost, drawn out to sea by the tide that was known as emotion. He didn’t know how to help John. What John would want, or need, for him to do in this instance. So he decided to do what he could, which was to be here for the man breaking before him.

Sherlock moved from his kneeling position to sit beside John, back leaned up against the wall, legs splayed out before him. If someone were to walk down this alley, they’d probably mistake Sherlock and John for drunkards, even though neither of them had touched a drop this entire night. John was quitting alcoholic beverages, ‘back on the wagon’ as he’d said. And Sherlock was trying to stay off of the sweeties, or any other sort of intoxicating substance.

After a few minutes Sherlock felt something touch his shoulder. It was John, leaning his head against him. Sherlock hesitated only for a moment before wrapping an arm around John’s shoulders. John responded by burrowing further into Sherlock’s side. Sherlock brought his other arm up to complete the circuit of embrace.

John cried, silently now, into Sherlock’s coat. Sherlock petted the back of his head with a gloved hand, wishing he could somehow take these memories from John. Delete them so they would cease in their torment of the bravest and best man Sherlock had ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

After a while John began to settle, the tears having stopped, and his breathing pattern returned to normal. He didn’t make to move away, and neither did Sherlock. Even though they were sitting on cold concrete in a dirty alley, and the temperature was about 1c, it still felt amazing to have the man he cared about more than anything in his arms. Sherlock hoped his presence was some comfort to John as well, or at least that Sherlock had been a decent substitute for some more substantial connection. 

There was a swell of noise coming from the open windows and the too-thin walls of the apartments buildings surrounding them. The countdown to midnight had begun. John tightened his grip minutely on Sherlock’s jacket, but showed no other signs of distress or that he even registered the almost cult like chanting.

At the stroke of midnight a bell began to toll somewhere in the distance, and applause and shouts of ‘Happy New Year!’ erupted into the night. 

“Happy New Year, Sherlock.” John whispered to him.

Sherlock smiled briefly, and dropped his head to rest against the top of the Johns, his lips pressing against John's crown in a not-quite kiss. 

“Happy New Year, John.” Sherlock mumbled back against the other man’s hair. 

They stayed that way until the clock tower in the distance chimed for one in the morning. Reluctantly, and with the popping of John’s knees, they got up from where they’d been huddled up. Sherlock was bereft with the loss of John’s warmth, of the presence of him invading Sherlock’s senses in such a pleasant way. But he was not let alone for long. As soon as John was finished dusting himself off and grimacing at the bin they’d been sitting next to, he turned to Sherlock and grabbed his arm, holding onto it with the clear intent of not letting go anytime soon. 

“Do you want to catch a cab?” Sherlock asked quietly as they exited the alley and began walking down the side-walk. 

“No.” John said quietly and shook his head. 

They walked towards Baker Street, a good ways off from where they currently were, and into the New Year. Sherlock couldn’t help but feel as though they were walking into a new chapter of their lives. Together.

  
  


~The End~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a Kudos if you dug it and maybe even a comment :O ?


End file.
